Stupid Kid
by Where-or-When
Summary: I remember the day I met Spot Conlon. I knew that he never liked me and that he just felt responsible for the girl he saved from death. Something he said to me inspired me to leave and find a new home.


I remember the day I met Spot Conlon. That was also the day after my father had been killed and when I got kicked out of my apartment. I was horrified, looking at Brooklyn in a way I never had before. I was all alone! My father was killed somewhere on those streets. Part of me wanted to die with him, and for a moment I started to plan out how I would go about doing it.

I hadn't even heard of the apparently famous Spot Conlon before until I began to wander about the streets. Well, I didn't wander as much as I did look for the perfect place to off myself. I came across these eerie, poorly kept docks. One of the only things my father never taught me was how to swim. It was perfect.

There I was, standing on the edge, staring straight down at my death. I squeezed my eyes shut, balled up my hands and sucked in one last long, deep breath. I bent my knees, swung my arms back, and heard a voice.

"You're really going to do it?"

Stunned, I straightened up and turned to the boy. I couldn't think of any same words to utter, leaving me nodding like an idiot.

The boy chuckled. "What could possibly make a girl like you want to kill herself?"

"I haven't got anything to live for."

He got off the pole he was leaning on, his already hard eyes hardening. He took my arm and pulled me away from the edge and pushed me back, "Why don't you go back home and tell Papa to fix it for you. You have no idea what it's like to have nothing."

"But-"

"Leave!"

Before I had enough time to think about it, I yelled to the rat, "My father is dead!"

He couldn't care less. "Tell it to your mom, then."

"She's been dead for a long time."

He raised his eyebrows. "So who are you living with?"

"Nobody," I crossed my arms and stared down at my feet. "My father was killed last night. I was kicked out of my home this morning."

The boy let out a sigh. "Welcome to my world, princess."

My blood was boiling. I shot him a dirty look then set my eyes back at the water. He didn't think I could do it. I took a step closer to the edge.

"Hey!" The boy ran up to me and grabbed my arm again. As soon as he realized what he was doing, he let go. "Don't do that."

"And why shouldn't I?"

"Because you have more to live for than that. Just do what I did."

"What's that?"

"Get off your ass and buck up. You don't really want to kill yourself." I looked down. He stepped closer. _"Do you?"_ I shook my head. "I didn't think so."

"I'm scared." I randomly uttered.

"Of?"

"Everything,"

"You don't have to be."

"Will you teach me to be like you?"

"Like _me_?"

"Yeah," I nodded. "Exactly like you."

He sighed and took my arm again. We started walking off the docks and into the part of Brooklyn I never thought I'd go near.

The next few weeks were brutal. Spot didn't ease me into anything. He chucked me out of the nest and waited for me to fly. And the strange thing was, before I hit the ground, I figured myself out and flew.

He'd hand me his slingshot and tell me to shatter a bottle and yell at me when I missed. He'd take me out into alleyways and tell me to find something to eat and let me starve when I couldn't. He'd point to a random boy and tell me to steal his piece of bread that he was nibbling or his nickel that he was flipping and let me get beat up when I couldn't outrun him or slap me if I got scared. Sometimes he made me sleep on the floor. Other times, he made me sleep outside.

Finally, things started to get easier. I finally got used to it. When he told me to shatter a bottle, I shattered three in a row. When he told me to find something to eat, I went straight to the nearest boy nibbling his bread. I either soaked him for getting near me or soaked him for kicks. You could say that I was a success.

During the day, Spot and I were blocks and blocks away from each other selling papes. But at night, we had a little meeting place. We'd always end up there with each other.

Just a few weeks ago, I was sitting near the edge of the docks, staring at Manhattan across the river.

Spot sat next to me. "Hey, kid."

"Spot, can I ask you something?"

"Depends on the question,"

"You ever think about Manhattan?"

He shrugged. "I guess I think about it sometimes. Why? Do you?"

"I just been thinking how I never been there."

"You ain't missing much." He looked right at me. "It ain't no fairy tale world there."

"And what, it is here?"

"Well," he pointed to himself, "there's a king," he pointed to me, "there's a queen," he gestured behind him to the streets of Brooklyn, "and so far, they're living happily ever after."

I shook my head. "Yeah, well I ain't happy."

"You think you'll be in Manhattan?"

"I don't know. Maybe," I shrugged.

"No, you won't be."

"How do you know that?"

"Cuz you're just like me. And I belong in Brooklyn. So you do, too."

"How do you know you wouldn't be happy in Manhattan?"

Spot sighed. "I'm going to tell you something I ain't told nobody before." I leaned forward, eager and a little skeptical. "I grew up in Manhattan."

My eyes widened to the size of baseballs. _"You?"_

"Yeah, me. I even had a mother and a father and went to school. Then everything had to go and change."

"What happened?"

"It all started when the old man left us. We ain't seen it coming, he ain't leave no note. One day, he just left and that was it. Kind of how like one day, your pop was gone for good."

"But it's different for me!" I interrupted. "My father died!"

"So? What's the difference? I ain't going to see my old man again and you ain't never going to see yours again."

I nodded, understanding his point.

"Anyway," he continued, "after he left, I became the man of the house. I wanted to protect my ma, but I guess my own feelings got in the way. I was so damned angry at everything all of a sudden. If somebody looked at me funny, I'd floor him. I'd get into fights at school and they'd send me home early. God, my mom got mad at me. She'd yell, she'd make me skip dinner, but she never talked with me about it and always made me go back to school the next day. I knew she hated me and didn't want to deal with me if she didn't have to. So I decided to do her a favor. I played hooky one day when I knew my mom would be out, threw my stuff together and left. Just like my old man, I ain't let her see it coming, I ain't leave no note and I ain't leave no trace of me. And look at me now! This is all because I came to Brooklyn. You don't want to go to Manhattan, kid. Take my word for it."

I ignored the last thing he said. "Don't you ever think of going back? You have a mother somewhere out there. Maybe she loves you. Maybe she's looking for you. You won't even try?"

"No," he shook his head, "I'll never go to the same Manhattan I grew up in. Sure, I go back to visit the newsies, but never to my neighborhood. Everything's changed. I don't even go by the same name!"

I leaned even closer and said almost in a whisper, "What's your real name?"

He let out a breath of air he had apparently been saving in his chest. He sucked in another and held it, staring straight across the river. I felt awkward for asking such a question but was too curious to back out of it. I was anxious but let him take his time. Spot looked down at his feet and let it all out, "Patrick,"

He looked sort of like a Patrick to me. Spot? No, that's the name for a boy. Patrick was a name for a man, or at least someone ready to grow up. Then it hit me that maybe Spot hadn't grown up. He pretended to be a man, but no matter what he did, he would still always be the same boy who ran away from home. He could only be a man when he would go back and confront his problems. Maybe he'll never grow up.

Spot looked at me again, his eyes unfamiliarly vulnerable. I wanted to put a hand on his shoulder or even smile for him, but I simply couldn't. He didn't need empathy. He didn't need anything, or anyone. It dawned on me that my presence could only make things more awkward for him, so I stood up before I could harm him.

"Where you going?" he asked.

I turned back to him, my arms crossed and the hair on the back of my neck standing up at the sound of his stern voice. "Home, I guess."

"Don't wander around too much, OK? Be asleep when I get back."

"When'll you be back?"

"When I'm ready,"

Typical Spot. I didn't mind it so much, though. Or at least I had gotten used to the way he treated me. Without thinking, I went straight to the lodging house. It wasn't home to me. It was never home. I don't know why I told Spot that I was going there when the only one I had was the one taken away from me.

I hated Brooklyn. I was comfortable there, but that doesn't mean that I ever even half liked the Brooklyn that I was forced to be in when the last of my family I had left was killed there in the streets.

I had to leave.

At that point, the only things keeping me in the lodging house were the boys watching me, the fact that Manhattan would be too dark to navigate when I'd've gotten there and that there was a chance I could be running into Spot.

So, instead of driving myself absolutely mad, I slipped on my nightgown and into my top bunk. Some candles were still lit, illuminating the room enough to see my knapsack on the floor.

"_I...threw my stuff together and left."_

I rolled onto my back and stared blankly at the ceiling.

_No,_ I thought, _I can't just up and leave him. He's done too much for me._

A crash. Something had broken. It was the window.

"God damn it!" Shortcake yelled. "Damn it damn it damn it!"

"Easy there, it was an accident! I'll clean it up!"

"What were you trying to do anyways? You have to focus!"

_You have to focus..._

"_You have to focus!" Spot smacked me across the face._

I rubbed my cheek, remembering the first time he hit me. A mixture of stinging, tingling and heat overwhelmed my face. I hadn't thought of it in a long time. I rolled over, pulling my wool blanket up over my shoulders.

"Jesus, now look at what you done! It's going to be freezing tonight!"

_It's going to be freezing tonight..._

"_But Spot! It's going to be freezing tonight!"_

"_I don't care! You wanted to be like me? Well here, this is a good slice of my life you can learn from!" With that, he slammed the door and locked it._

"I ought to smash your head in!" Shortcake went on.

"Calm down!" "Shut up!" "Put a lid on it!" boys from all over the room yelled.

"Yeah? Who's gonna make me?"

_Who's gonna make me?_

"_Who's gonna make me? What are you gonna do? Hit a girl like me?"_

If I were a boy, I'd've already hit me loads of times. I said that I wanted to be like Spot, but all I really wanted was to not be afraid of being on my own. I was beginning to be afraid of myself. At any moment, I could turn fully into Spot. That I couldn't handle. I had to leave before anything could get any worse.

"_I ain't let her see it coming, I ain't leave no note and I ain't leave no trace of me."_

I planned to leave in the morning. Usually, I was the first one to get up by a long shot. It would give me enough time to be sneaky and throw myself together and get the hell out.

Just like any other morning, I squinted open my eyes to the room full of morning light and empty of any other boy that had awakened.

"_I knew she hated me and didn't want to deal with me if she didn't have to. So I decided to do her a favor."_

Carefully, I lowered myself to the floor and stuffed my other dress, my nightgown, my slingshot, my brush and my mother's hair pin into my knapsack. I found the key to my apartment from when I was my old self and put it in my pocket, hoping to find another home of any sort somewhere in Manhattan.

I swiftly tiptoed down the stairs to the lobby-type room. There, sandwiched between the desk and the door, was a mirror.

"_And look at me now! This is all because I came to Brooklyn."_

I took a final, miserable look around at the lodging house and was out the door. I knew I had to move quickly to get to the bridge before Spot could catch up to me, but something kept me going at a slower pace. For all I knew, this would be the last time I would ever be in Brooklyn. Relive the trauma I went through? No thanks. Risk seeing Spot after I ran away from him? Hell no.

Before I knew it, I was at the Brooklyn end of the Brooklyn Bridge. I looked back at what used to be all mine.

_"You ain't missing much. It ain't no fairy tale world there."_

_"And what, it is here?"_

_"Well, there's a king, there's a queen, and so far, they're living happily ever after."_

I imagined what Spot would be like when he woke up. He'd look around, figure that I took an early start, and forget about it. Then later, he'd go to the docks and I wouldn't be there. I'd never be there again. He'd always remember the day before as the last time he saw me and this day as the day he never saw me again. Did I feel guilty? No. Why? He wouldn't care! He must have had experience with people just suddenly being out of his life. He might be a little sad but ultimately, he'd be glad that he wouldn't have to look after and feel responsible for me. I gripped my key in my pocket and set forth to find my new home.

_Patrick, darling, since you left me, I am undone. Mother loves you. God save my son._


End file.
